


The Inquisitor's Letters

by illegible



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, gen - Freeform, written for a prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-07 01:12:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12830145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illegible/pseuds/illegible
Summary: Lavellan receives messages from the people of Thedas.





	The Inquisitor's Letters

He’s not sure who began it precisely, or how. Some say it was a traveling dwarven merchant with an idea and an opportunity. Others believe it was a Mother in Ghislain, or an elven child in Denerim. But Inquisitor Lavellan begins to notice new and peculiar stalls dotting the streets of cities he visits. The stationary they sell bears the mark of the Inquisition (imitative, Josephine assures him, not official in any capacity), gilded edges and ornate designs. Their pens appear less popular but feature novelty inks, rare quills, even purported blessings. At least when he passes, the lines are always long.  
  
It takes time before the subject reaches his desk.  
  
“They’re letters for you,” the Left Hand explains when he asks, “hundreds. People are sending them from all over Thedas.”  
  
“Really?” he asks. Then, realizing he hasn’t misheard, he continues, “Well, what’s the problem?”  
  
“There has been some debate on whether to screen them or not,” says Leliana, “and whether it will take too much of your time.” She smiles at him. “We are very aware that our Inquisitor has the tendency to ignore himself to help others. You enjoy so few leisure activities already, it would be a pity if this swallowed up what remains.”  
  
“Don’t worry about it,” he replies, grinning, “I don’t mind. As long as it’s not an official responsibility I can read what people have to say, at least.”  
  
So the deliveries begin.  
  
The first, which he suspects was handed to him very deliberately, comes in the careful and unsteady scrawl of a child.  
  
_To His Worship Inquisitor Mahanon Lavellan of Skyhold,_  
  
_My name is Isell from Amaranthine and I’m seven. My mum is helping but says I can send you all by myself. Thank you for fixing the hole in the sky and also the one by the dead man’s house. There were demons but they’re mostly gone now and people are going outside now. Da says Amaranthine has been through too much and can survive anything and he says you’re an elf like us and the Hero of Ferelden was an elf too. He says people used to think elves can’t be heroes but now they don’t. Have you met the Hero of Ferelden? Also I heard that even though you’re Dalish Andraste helped you in the Fade and that humans let you be in the Chantry because anyone Andraste likes must be a really good person. What’s Andraste like? The Chant says a lot but it’s different meeting someone I think. Also I think I saw you a little before but Mum wasn’t sure because you had a helmet on and we were far away and there were a lot of people but I bet it was you. Da wasn’t sure I should write because he says the Dalish don’t like city elves like we are but I think you must be nice and Mum agrees with me. I’ve been playing demon hunters with my brother Arrion (he’s just five still) and Da said templars are who fights demons usually and elves can’t be templars. People thought elves couldn’t be heroes and inquisitors though and we are so I bet I could too. Is it hard fighting demons? Da says they’re real scary but I’m not scared. Thank you for helping us and everyone and I hope you kill lots of demons._  
  
_Sincerely,_  
_Isell U’venlan_  
  
There is a small, bronze, Andrastrian charm included with the letter. It’s about the size of a coin and just as heavy, with a small hole over the sun so it can be worn as a pendant if desired. He thinks one of Isell’s parents must have bought it. He runs his fingers over the engravings as he reads a second time. Then, smiling slightly, he takes his own sheet of parchment and begins to write.  
  
_To the Lady Isell U’venlan of Amaranthine,_  
  
_Thank you for your letter, it was nicely written and very kind. I don’t get to spend much time with people from the places I visit, so it made me happy to hear that things have improved. Fixing the hole in the sky was important because it means demons can’t bother people and people can’t bother demons. I’m glad I could help._  
  
_Unfortunately I only remember a little of the dead man’s house. I was more tired during my time at Amaranthine than I’d have liked, but your city seemed very brave. It makes sense that it would be, since your Da is right. Amaranthine had to fight a lot of darkspawn just after the Blight. I haven’t gotten to meet Warden-Commander Surana yet, but I do know his family. I doubt his son is much older than you are. They seem to love the Hero of Ferelden very much and have done a great deal for Thedas._  
  
_Elvhen can do anything humans can, Isell. It’s just a question of whether others recognize it. Our people have to work hard and show the best of ourselves. That way, we can’t be ignored._  
  
_I don’t speak for all Dalish, but my clan has tried to be welcoming to elves from the cities. In general we didn’t dislike outsiders so much as we worried for them. Things can get very hard in some alienages._  
  
_It’s possible I met Andraste, but she might have been a spirit or the Divine. I’m not sure. The Fade is odd so it was difficult to tell. She seemed sincere, faithful, and like she wanted to help those beyond herself. She avoided giving direct answers but made certain we got home in one piece. I’m grateful to her, whether she was Andraste or not._  
  
_You might have seen me, I do like wearing helmets. They keep my head safe from all sorts of monsters._  
  
_Play nice with Arrion, he is younger than you. But you should probably see how you feel in a few years about being a templar. It’s not an easy life and the Order is changing a great deal right now. If you’re still interested in helping fight demons when you’re grown up, you should write to Commander Cullen Rutherford to see if he has any advice. He’s a close friend of mine and was a templar himself once._  
  
_Dealing with demons can be very difficult sometimes, and it can be scary too. It depends on the demon. Not all spirits who come through the Veil are bad, but some are and even nice spirits can become ugly if they’re afraid or confused. When I destroy them here, they have the chance to be reborn safely in the Fade one day._  
  
_Stay brave, Isell. And thank you._  
  
_Dareth shiral,_  
_Inquisitor Mahanon Lavellan of Skyhold_  
  
Most envelopes simply contain the letters and nothing else. A few include gold pieces or religious tokens as well, the latter of which gradually spread across every available surface in his room. Someone (possibly the combined efforts of Josephine and Sera, they’ve been secretive of late) strings the bulk of them from the archway by his dresser instead. It keeps his private space a little neater, and the objects clink gently as he walks through.  
  
Lavellan isn’t able to answer most messages. Even reading them all would prove impossible. At some point, it becomes unofficial policy to leave requests for blessings or prophecies well enough alone. But he saves what resonates, and answers what he knows how to answer.  
  
_To His Holiness Inquisitor Lavellan of Skyhold,_  
  
_I’ve loved the Chant since I was only a boy. My mother converted after marrying an elf from the city (my father) and devoted herself to learning the words, the rites, the values that make Andrastrianism such a force of good in the world today. There were times my family didn’t have enough to eat. The Chantry always cared for us as best they could, and saved us on countless occasions._  
  
_I wanted to become a cleric. Do my part to give back to the faith that gave so much to me and mine. It was devastating to learn that my prayers, no matter how heartfelt, would never be enough for me to truly be embraced as one of the faithful._  
  
_I do not blame Andraste, Inquisitor. Most clergywomen, too, can do little against the institution without facing excommunication. But this affair has taken a toll on my involvement with the Chantry, and I have been forced to conduct private recitations in the alienage in order to truly reach my own community. I fear that if we were discovered we might be branded heretics, but this is the only way we can truly involve ourselves in the Maker’s teachings._  
  
_I’ve grown old, Inquisitor. But seeing you rise to such reverence within the faith as one of the elvhen, as a Dalish even, gives me hope that perhaps there is room for us after all._  
  
_May the Maker watch over you,_  
_Hahren Yevros Dirtherna of Highever_  
  
Lavellan sits for a long time after that one. Reaches for his pen. Leaves it be.  
  
This deserves something but Creators help him, he doesn’t have the words.  
  
“Unfortunate,” says Vivienne, “but it is the way things are. You simply can’t help everyone, my dear.”  
  
“Maybe someday,” says Cassandra, staring into the wine he brought her, “things will change. The Chantry is already tearing itself apart over mages and templars. If we upset everything at once it will only cause more bloodshed.”  
  
Leliana, eyes cold, smiles so very gently and answers, “I will do what I can.”  
  
He has no solution himself. He keeps the letter regardless.  
  
_To the Honorable Herald of Andraste Inquisitor Lavellan,_  
  
_I cannot deny that at first, I had grave misgivings about your status. Much to my shame I was among those protesting in the streets of Val Royeaux when templars struck down Mother Hevara. Whispers of Dalish savagery, of blasphemous rituals, of opportunistic usurpers abounded. Your role in the calamity which tore our sky apart remained unclear. In my terror, I was blinded._  
  
_But true to your word you have sealed the Breach. Your stand against the magister sidereal Corypheus after countless sacred trials (by dreams, by ice, by holy war) can be nothing but the Maker’s will. Please do forgive me, and accept my support in extending missionaries to meet with your Dalish brothers and sisters so that they too may enjoy the enlightenment you have brought we civilized people of Thedas._  
  
_I am and shall remain your humble servant,_  
_Sister Lucia Berengar of Val Royeaux_  
  
He consults Josephine, who swears she will find a way to diffuse the situation. He continues to request updates every few days (even becoming a mild annoyance) until being informed that Sister Lucia has opted to assist an Orzammar chantry instead.  
  
_Inquisitor,_  
  
_My husband was violated in the Markham Circle. He escaped on foot with much sacrifice to try and find his father’s clan. He was sure they would help him, that they would understand._  
  
_Your “true elves” shot him down and left his corpse for the lyrium-hounds. His name was Varos. He was handsome and sweet and loved to laugh. Apparently he wasn’t worth the risk._  
  
_Now, you open your great fortress to mages and promise protection as long as they’ll supply your private army. Andraste never chose you. We both know the lie you truly follow. You're using her to get ahead the same way you use everyone._  
  
_I hope they burn you alive for the whole world to see._  
  
_\- Shiasa_  
  
Lavellan sits, head in hands, hunched over his desk. The room is dark save one candle, which wavers uncertainly. Fog masks the mountains outside and there are no stars. In the end, he tucks the note into a drawer and goes to bed early.  
  
_Mahanon,_  
  
_My brothers and sisters were slaughtered by warring Orlesians in the Emerald Graves while you danced with nobility. The Dalish dwindle and you say nothing, preening on your Andrastrian throne like the pet rabbit you are. Dirthara-ma, harellan._

 _\- Bramael Venurgarna_  
  
For a while after that Lavellan goes through routines in a stupor, saying little, barely registering the mission assignments made. He almost misses Cole at the stables.  
  
“He wants to run,” says the spirit softly, gesturing to his Imperial Warmblood. Tasydhas. Cole's eyes are like painted glass under the brim of his hat. “Take him.”  
  
And Mahanon does, crossing Skyhold's bridge at a full gallop—knuckles white around the reigns urging his mount faster and faster until everything blurs between snow and grass, trees and stone and the endless sky. He loses track of how long they travel that way, ghosts cast over a world leaving them behind. His lungs burn with cold.  
  
At some point they stop at the edge of a narrow creek to rest. Tasydhas’ flanks shiver as he bends his head to drink greedily, and Lavellan finds the trunk of a tree. Sits there. His head aches. He can feel his pulse throbbing in his chest, in his throat, under his fingertips.  
  
There is a note in the pouch at his side. It's written on simple paper, the penmanship unpracticed.  
  
_Inquisitor Lavellan of Skyhold,_  
  
_My name is Numerius Laeca. We met in the Hissing Wastes some months ago. It was very dark and I couldn't speak at the time._  
  
_I’ve been a slave for as long as I can remember, born to cover my parents’ debt. There has never been hope for me. Although not every aspect of my servitude involved fear or torture, I saw enough. This began taking a toll on my performance in recent years so I was sold again. My best use to the Venatori has been as a test subject._  
  
_Red lyrium is grown from pain and suffering, Inquisitor. The cultivation in me had already begun and I was resigned to dying alone in a cage. I try not to remember._  
  
_You killed my captors yourself, escorted me to an Inquisition campsite. The agents there covered me in blankets, treated my wounds, provided food and shelter. When it was clear the damage to my mind was severe you requested I be brought to the Denerim Chantry for further care. I still don’t know what this cost you._  
  
_Due to your help I am alive and well and getting better. I will never return to the Imperium. For the first time, there is a future for me._  
  
_Whatever your title, I want to extend my deepest gratitude for all you’ve done on my behalf._  
  
_Live well,_  
_Numerius_  
  
Slowly, quietly, Lavellan exhales. His expression softens. He shuts his eyes. Carefully, he returns the correspondence to its place.  
  
Tasydhas returns with him at a walk that evening. Cole waits, legs dangling over the wall, mouth quirked in a tentative smile.  
  
As the Inquisitor passes, he offers the boy one final note.  
  
In thin, spidery letters the scrap reads simply:  
  
_Thank you. I shouldn't forget so easily._


End file.
